Clandestine

by J. Robert Janes

* The huge wine store that, after it was torn down in the 1960s, became the location of the Sorbonne’s Faculty of Sciences.

  * Charles de Gaulle but also the Special Operations Executive who dropped agents into France.

  * Now Gustave Geffroy.

  * Levelled in 1966 and since 1968 a school of higher education and social sciences.

  * Killed by a grenade thrown by Czech partisans on 29 May 1942, Heydrich was buried on 9 June of that year, Hitler then waiting eight months before replacing him with Kaltenbrunner.

  10

  Wearing the mud-caked rubber waders of a sewer worker, the bleus de travail, blue jacket, cap and lamp on a bandolier across the chest, Jacques Leporatti had finally arrived. Frans shuddered at the sight of him, for there was a finality to that arrival that was understood only too well. Nearly in his sixties, Monsieur Leporatti­ had been on the run for so long, he understood exactly what it was like. A passionate gardener, especially in the Jardin des Plantes­, he yearned for nothing else and immediately reached out to her, she saying softly, ‘Merci, I’m so glad you finally got here.’

  Giving her arm another reassuring squeeze, he smiled and said, ‘You were worried about me and I am honoured. Aram, two things. First, in reprisal for the killing of Dr. Julius Ritter, Standartenführer Helmut Knochen of the avenue Foch has selected fifty hostages to be shot at the Fort de Romainville.* Secondly, the car you requested awaits.’

  Tossing him the keys, he took his place. Les égoutiers being among the very few who would have papers allowing them to be out after curfew, Monsieur Leporatti would have used his backup identity papers, even with a name change.

  It was Aram who said, ‘Annette-Mélanie has had a note from a Sûreté, Jacques, but for now we must deal with this one. Frans Oenen—Paul Klemper—is there anything further you would like to say in your defence?’

  ‘She really does have those diamonds, like I said, and though she will continue to deny that there are others, she has to know where fortunes more are hidden. The Boche wouldn’t otherwise have clamped such a lid of secrecy on the hunt for her.’

  ‘And yourself, it appears,’ said Emmi. ‘Aram, let me have a look before we put our heads together. Annette-Mélanie be so good as to lift this one’s feet so that I can examine his shoes. We’ll start there.’

  Frans grinned. He couldn’t resist, and as each shoe was then taken off to have its sole examined, and then the insoles removed and the leather linings scrutinized, he watched Emmi intently with amusement, only to finally say, ‘Are you now satisfied, Frau Widow?’

  ‘Not yet. Patience is necessary and Anna-Marie Vermeulen has to learn this, for one can never tell, can one?’

  Feeling the turn-ups of his trousers between thumb and forefinger, Emmi went carefully around each, only to then take something from her topcoat and hold it up in the palm of her hand. Spring-loaded, the SS blade leaped and with it, she slit the fabric and removed the tiniest slip of tissue paper. ‘If arrested, contact Kriminalrat Heinrich Ludin. There, you see, mein Lieber, it’s a night for notes.’

  ‘I didn’t betray any of them. I simply followed her to the Gare de l’Est to tell her she wasn’t to worry, that I would never have told them anything. That’s why they still can’t know of the safe house she and the others are now using and where she must have left those diamonds.’

  A nice try, but it was Aram who said, ‘Anna-Marie, please take this and tuck it under his shirt.’

  It was, she knew, a stick of Nobel 808 and it stank of bitter almonds so badly, she automatically flung back her head but could no longer bring herself to say Frans’s name, had had to become another person. ‘It’ll give you a blistering headache. The skin absorbs it just as fast as the lungs.’

  She couldn’t, felt Bedikian, allow herself to refuse, and had quickly come to realize it. ‘And now this, Anna-Marie. Stab it into the end of that 808 and crush the necessary.’

  ‘Red gives a delay of one-half hour, depending on the temperature,’ said Félix. ‘The colder it is, the slower the chemical reaction.’

  Of about fifteen centimetres in length, the ‘pencil’ was about six millimetres in diameter.

  ‘It has a thin glass vial of acid,’ said André Beachamp. ‘When crushed, that dissolves a wire that holds back a spring that then fires the detonator.’

  ‘Protecting the vial, there’s a ridge that has to be pressed hard,’ said Emmi.

  Feeling as though she could hear it break, Anna-Marie knew she had to do this, for they’d never forgive her if she didn’t. Quickly inserting it into the end of the doughy brown 808, she emptily said, ‘You may have about thirty-five minutes, since it’s colder here than outside.’

  ‘Surely you’re not going to leave me like this?’

  Gagged, he was taken to the car, but were there now even twenty­ minutes left? she wondered. Time pencils were known to mal­function, some either detonating far too soon, others far too late.

  Floored, the car shot out of the courtyard and up the rue des Gobelins through the blackout, the tires squealing horribly as they reached the boulevard Arago and then the boulevard Saint-Marcel, Aram heading for the pont d’Austerlitz.

  Running its control, crossing in a matter of seconds as the Wehrmacht detail tried to use their rifles, he turned onto the quai Henry IV to follow the river, but within two or three minutes the tires were again squealing, they having turned to the right, Aram saying, ‘The avenue de l’Opéra, I think. Yes, that should do nicely.’

  André sat up front with a Schmeisser, Frans in the back between herself, with Fran’s pistol, and Emmi who had a Luger. Reaching place de l’Opéra, doing a loop, they barely missed the low, white-painted traffic barricade in front of the darkened Kommandantur. Skidding to a stop, now facing the equally darkened Café de la Paix, where late-nighters in uniform with their petites amies and others would still be hanging on in that favourite haunt of the Occupier, the engine idled, Emmi getting out as Frans valiantly tried to resist. ‘Shove him,’ said Aram.

  Totally in darkness, the nearby steps down into the métro would be closed off, for those last trains would have departed at 2200 hours, but now there were lights from the café and yells, too, in Deutsch to halt, get out of the car and put their hands up.

  Slamming the door behind herself, Emmi breathlessly said, ‘Neun Sekunden,’ as shots were fired, and they hurtled west along the boulevard des Capucines.

  Nine seconds. Not content to trust the time pencil, Emmi had stuffed a pattern-24 stick grenade behind Frans’s belt. Ashen, Anna-Marie knew she mustn’t cry, but when held and kissed on the forehead, cheeks and eyelids, broke down. They couldn’t have detonated any of that near the tannery, but could have shot Frans and left him anywhere else. Instead, Aram had chosen the very place to most enrage the Occupier. ‘They’ll kill us all,’ she wept. ‘They won’t stop, Aram. Not now.’

  ‘But it will bring the worms out,’ said Bedikian as they raced back across the river. ‘You’re truly one of us at last, and the lesson learned is that savagery will be met with savagery.’

  Floodlights lit up place de l’Opéra at 2315 hours. Truncheon-wielding­ flics and helmeted, rifle-bearing Wehrmacht held back the curious­ which included Rudy de Mérode, Sergei Lebeznikov and other gestapistes­ français, namely the towering, white-fedora and white silk­–­suited­ Henri Lafont of the rue Lauriston, an old acquaintance­, felt Kohler. And among them, of course, were the pompiers, the ambulances­ and even three salad shakers. Louis and himself had finally­ been about to get something to eat when a harried­ Rudi Sturmbacher, having just heard the news, had rushed to tell them.

  To the right were the collective brass in their greatcoats and military caps; to the left, waiters from the Café de la Paix urging patrons to return to their tables since the imminent threat of another bomb had passed.

  Picking their way through the entrails, their high heels and silk s
tockings clear enough since the hems of their evening dresses had been hiked, les horizontales ou petites amies paused to have a closer look. After all, it wasn’t every day such a thing happened. And of course, someone had notified the press who were having a field day.

  ‘Kohler …’

  It was the Kommandant von Gross-Paris.

  ‘Get rid of those parasites, then come to see me alone and with St-Cyr.’

  ‘Immediately, General.’

  All wore name tags either on the chest or tucked into their fedoras, and among them were Paris Soir, the most widely read daily, Le Matin, too, a close competitor as was Le Petit Parisien, and all were fierce rivals even if tightly controlled, but there was only one way to shake them off.

  Je Suis Partout, that insidious weekly that sought out and published the hiding places of wanted Jews and others and clamoured for their arrest, loved nothing better, like the others, than to reveal hidden caches for the marché noir: sixty kilos of sugar in a baby carriage; one hundred fifty–kilo sacks of potatoes in a convent, eighty of butter in a stove for which fuel could seldom be found. But news like that seldom, if ever, targeted the BOFs who could buy their way out, only the lampistes.

  ‘Hermann, at least let’s consider the ramifications.’

  ‘We’ve no choice. We need Boineburg-Lengsfeld now more than ever. Hey, you two from Je Suis, and you from Pariser Zeitung, do you see that bank over there on the boulevard des Capucines? Yes, that’s the very one beyond that gleaming white Bentley of Lafont’s. Well, my partner and me have just come from the mother lode of marché noir caches, and guess where we found it?’

  There were even offers of money, which only showed how shallow the press were, felt St-Cyr, but Hermann told them anyway, and out it all came in a rush. ‘Take a few flics with you and be sure to tell them to bring an army from the food control. Eyes are going to be opened and not just your own.’

  General Karl-Heinrich von Stülpnagel, the military governor, was with Brigadeführer und Generalmajor Karl-Albrecht Oberg, the Höherer SS und Polizeiführer of France whose bottle-thick glasses were catching the light. Boemelburg, head of the Gestapo, was beside them, and beside that one, Osias Pharand of the Sûreté and Talbotte of the Paris Police. All were far from happy, as was Heinrich Ludin. Only Standartenführer Kleiber looked as if in his element.

  ‘But I’m seeing the headlines, Louis: Assassins Butcher SD Sonderkommando Informant. ’

  ‘Who let them know all that?’

  ‘You should be using the cameras of the mind that you keep preaching.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘The Kommandant von Gross-Paris.’

  But Heinrich Ludin was now passing out extra copies of the two photos that the Hague Central had sent him. ‘And in case you haven’t yet noticed, Hermann, Lebeznikov is livid.’

  Clouds hid the moon, but from the utter darkness of the boulevard Arago came the ever-increasing sounds of not one, felt Anna-Marie, but two of the swallows. They were just starting to pass the Santé now and had she not heard them, would have been onto her.

  Huddled against that brick wall, the Sparta pulled in close, she waited. Both were smoking cigarettes and she could see those little lights above their blinkered headlamps and even gauge the height of each. The taller, by his voice alone, seemed the older and when they paused, the sound of their brakes was clear enough, the root smell of their tobacco also.

  ‘Sacré nom de nom, Henri, what’s it this time? Me, I just want to get home.’

  ‘My lamp caught a glimmer. Along this way, Jacques. A silhouette.’

  Though it had hurt, Aram had been definite: ‘Sell that kilo of boart or else. The money won’t just buy everything needed. It will cause other équipes to flock to us and we can then do the necessary.’

  ‘Then at least sell a little at a time. Even 50 grams is still 250 carats and far too risky. At 9,000 francs a carat, that’s 2.25 million.’

  ‘We haven’t the time and they know it. Use the Bureau Munimin-­Pimetex. Göring’s bunch will go for it right away if only to lord it over the others and keep them from getting the diamonds.’

  ‘Mademoiselle, montrez-moi vos papiers, s’il vous plaît.’

  Ah non. ‘Messieurs les agents, I haven’t done anything. The cleaning wasn’t easy tonight, and I simply stayed until it was done so that I wouldn’t lose my job. I’m a student at the Sorbonne. Tomorrow I must be at the Bibliothèque Nationale first thing and then must present my dissertation to my professors. Please don’t cause me to lose a whole year and consign me to cleaning the toilets at your Commissariat de Police for a week or ten days.’

  ‘She even knows the usual sentence, Henri, but not that we can now consign her to the Service du Travail Obligatoire for two years. Maybe if we detain her long enough, she’ll sing another tune.’

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I really haven’t done anything and have a good reason for being out. Why not …’

  One of the flashlights was switched off, that of the older and by his accent, definitely from this district. ‘Vos papiers, mademoiselle,’ he said again, this time with a hand extended. ‘Maybe it’s your night to get lucky, Jacques. She’s young enough and pretty.’

  As with Aram and the others, so, too, was there now no other choice. If they yelled, they’d bring several from the Santé. ‘Please carefully turn around and then switch off the headlamps. Unless I have to, I won’t shoot, but please don’t make me. I’ve already done enough for one night.’

  Neither Aram, nor Emmi, Félix or any of the others would have hesitated to silence them, but elsewhere and far enough away if possible. Merely being in this street would give the Boche and all their friends the districts to ruthlessly comb, and it would only be a matter of time until the tannery was discovered.

  But at the rue du Faubourg Saint-Jacques, one suddenly ran and leaped onto his bike to head to the left, the other to the right, leaving her no other choice. She couldn’t go back to the tannery to warn anyone, for all would have already left, and she mustn’t head for the rue Vercingétorix yet either. To do so would only lead them to Arie. At the least she would have to create a diversion and be seen, and that meant riding as far from here as possible to widen the net. Only then could she head for that safe house.

  But she mustn’t go anywhere near place de l’Opéra.

  A bit of sash cord, once white, revealed that the wrists had been tied, likely behind the back.

  ‘Ein Spitzel, Kohler,’ said Boineburg-Lengsfeld, nudging the scrap with the toe of an immaculately polished jackboot. ‘And a mere girl has caused this—Dutch, was she?’

  The pompiers were uncoiling the fire hoses to wash away what the ambulance crews had failed to remove. ‘An under-diver, General, but one my partner and I have come to believe has FTP connections.’

  And quite obvious! ‘But she also has other connections, Kohler?’

  Because of their deliberate burning of the photos and negatives to save themselves, Bolduc, Reinecke and Heiss would now definitely be planning to use what they knew. ‘Yes, General. Hector Bolduc, owner and chairman of that bank and its van.’

  ‘And two from Abwehr-West, General. Overseers of his bank and accomplices in both Bolduc’s schwarzer Markt activities and in his smuggling of individuals into and out of Paris for a substantial fee with or without Abwehr-West authority or any other.’

  ‘Both are also buying up cars that Bolduc’s garage then get ready for them to sell in the Reich.’

  And with fuel in such shortages the Wehrmacht in Russia were having to destroy perfectly good vehicles. Was there no end to the duplicity and disgrace those two were shedding on the Service? ‘Their names, Kohler. Admiral Canaris* will have to be informed. Would a tour of duty in Russia suit?’

  Had that God of Louis’s finally quit throwing rocks? ‘As soon as possible, General, to prevent them and Bolduc from interfering w
ith our investigation. They’ll now be determined to find her for themselves so that they can lay hands on the black diamonds before anyone else, including Ulrich Frensel and Johannes Uhl.’

  And yet another two of the Führer’s infernal riffraff. ‘Ach, do those diamonds even exist?’

  ‘It’s highly unlikely, General,’ said St-Cyr.

  ‘Yet this whole investigation centres around such a fiction?’

  There was no point in avoiding it, felt Kohler. ‘On Thursday, General, Reinecke and Heiss are to deliver, with Bolduc, the flying boat his bank has donated to the Luftwaffe. ’

  ‘They’ll also take in the fall pot-shoot, General, and visit a few of the properties the two of them and that bank have been investing in.’

  ‘The properties, Kohler?’

  ‘Yes, General. Promising resort areas along the Côte d’Argent and Côte Sud des Landes, and vineyards and châteaux just to the north of Bordeaux in the Haut-Médoc and Médoc.’

  ‘Well, we shall see about that. You will, of course, still have to find her. We can’t have banditry like this going on under our very noses even if it is over a fictitious cache of diamonds Kaltenbrunner and others insist on claiming exists. Now go and deal with those superiors of yours and then with that Kriminalrat and his. None of them will have taken it kindly your both having first talked to myself, so be sure to tell them I have important matters to attend to and must now take my leave.’

  The salute he gave was not the usual but that of the soldier he’d been in that other war.

  ‘We have to leave with him, Louis. We can’t pass up the excuse Lebeznikov and Mérode have given us and need to keep hiding what we know.’

  For as long as possible since Ludin and Kleiber were also leaving to follow those first two. ‘Then let’s hope she’s found another and far safer place.’

  Midnight had come and gone. It was now, noticed Anna-Marie, 0022 hours, Tuesday 5 October. The headquarters of Abwehr-West was in total darkness, the Prison du Cherche-Midi also. Bien-sûr, this didn’t mean there were no lights on in those and other such places. The interrogations and the torture would go on for hours and hours if necessary, but above her and still with their tantalizing mystery, the stars were fully out, the air so clear, there was that lovely scent of falling leaves.